He made the trip without mishap to Las Vegas, and was fortunate enough to find there a man who could--and did--give him explicit directions for reaching Johnnywater. And along about four o’clock on the afternoon of the fourth day, Patricia’s new partner let down a new wire gate in the mended fence across the cañon just above the water hole, and gazed about him with an air of possession before he got into the car and drove on to the cabin. He did not know, of course, that the gate was very new indeed, or that the fence had been mended less than a week before. He was therefore considerably astonished when a young man with his sleeves rolled to his elbows and the wind blowing through his hair came walking out of the grove to meet him. James Blaine Hawkins frowned. He felt so much the master of Johnnywater that he resented the sight of a trespasser who looked so much at home as did Gary Marshall. He grunted a gruff hello in response to Gary’s greeting, drove on into the dooryard and killed his engine. Gary turned back and came close to the car. He was rather quick at reading a man’s mood from little, indefinable signs which would have been overlooked by another man. Something in the general attitude of James Blaine Hawkins spelled insolence which Gary instinctively challenged. “Are you lost?” Gary asked rather noncommittally. “You’re pretty well off the beaten track, you know. This trail ends right here.” “Well, that suits me. Right here is where I headed for. Might I ask what you’re doing here?” “Why, I suppose you might.” Now that Gary had taken a good look at James Blaine Hawkins, he did not like him at all. James Blaine Hawkins waited a reasonable time for Gary to say what he was doing in Johnnywater Cañon. But Gary did not say. He was rolling a cigarette with maddening precision and a nonchalant manner that was in itself an affront; or so James Blaine Hawkins chose to consider it. “Well, damn it, what _are_ you doing here?” he blurted arrogantly. James Blaine Hawkins was of the physical type which is frequently called beefy. His red face darkened and seemed to swell. “I? Why, I’m stopping here,” drawled Gary. “What are _you_ doing here?” James Blaine Hawkins leaned against the side of the car, folded his arms and spat into the dust. Then he laughed. “I’m here to stay!” he announced somewhat pompously. “I don’t reckon it’s any of your business, but I’ve got a half interest in this place--better ’n a half interest. I got what you might call a straight two thirds interest in everything. Two thirds and _found_.” He laughed again. “So, I guess mebby I got a right to know why you’re stopping here.” Not for nothing was Gary Marshall an actor. When he learned to portray emotion before the camera, he also learned to conceal emotion. Not even Patricia in her most suspicious mood could have discovered how astonished, how utterly taken aback Gary was at that moment.